


Settled Wakes and Stardust

by feveredsweetness



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Angst, Demisexual Will Graham, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Pansexual Hannibal Lecter, difficult conversations, post-S3, standbyme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7831036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feveredsweetness/pseuds/feveredsweetness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had heard Will scream around 3 AM. An awful thing that had clawed its way from out of the empath’s throat before turning into something much more maimed, and bound in quaking, primal anguish. </p><p> </p><p>Will Graham seeks acceptance, yet struggles with fear, along with some pieces of a life left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I aim to write 3-5 chapters of Settled Wakes and Stardust for this event. This story has been difficult to write, but I am loving writing it. I hope you all enjoy, and as always, comments and kudos are welcome! Thank you, and thank you to everyone participating and supporting Hannigram: Love is Love! <3

Some days, the vibrancy of human conduct enlivens and thrills him. Others, silence is far more electric. Electric, yet encasing. Comforting. As if one is being cradled; a balm being applied to the soul.

Hannibal Lecter savors this sensation as his eyes trail over the man lying next to him; tufts of wild curls peeking out from underneath a quilted, cream colored comforter. Hannibal smirks, but a sting of disappointment pricks at his heart. The disappointment is brief. A reminder that expectations of the morning had not been set for something so unpredictable sinks in. Will Graham has always been an old hand at fear, but he was also always the one to handle it on his own, privately. Expectation, then, withers almost as soon as it reaches full blossom. His desire to wake up to them entwined is arbitrary at best.

Hannibal’s focus shifts back to Will, as he resists the urge to breathe him in. He settles, instead, for studying the way sunlight catches and plays in Will’s disheveled hair; how alarmingly soft in the morning glow he appears, vulnerable and yet all too guarded.

Will had maintained this careful balance since making his transition from one reality to another. It was something he was rather persistently adamant about. Hannibal’s smirk blossoms into a smile, unusually charmed and contrary to his predatory nature.

_Will Graham. Always trying to hide in one way or another._

There is no doubt that Will will rouse eventually, face dabbled with hints of mild embarrassment for having sought Hannibal out in a nightmare-induced panic.

He had heard Will scream around 3 AM. An awful thing that had clawed its way from out of the empath’s throat before turning into something much more maimed, and bound in quaking, primal anguish.

Hannibal’s heart had picked up a concerned tempo, the muscles in his body coiled and ready to spring into action. Yet, he had learned rather quickly since the fall, since they had started to living together, that it was nearly always best and always wanted by the man to be left alone during these haunted evening hours. Will had even refused Molly’s comforting aid during their time together.

Instead, Will simply had chosen to resort to the consumption of whiskey, along with the company of wagging tails and soft nuzzles from Winston and the like. It was the only form of intimacy Will had ever accepted and embraced completely. As was it the only source of intimacy the hyper-sensitive man craved on a day to day basis; the only one which supplied him with an immersive tranquility.

Now is different, however. Now, Winston is a hard reminder of a piece of a past life, while being a present constant in Molly’s. One of the only tokens of remembrance she had of the man who had fallen to his death years ago, after taking down two of the most lethal and wanted killers to have ever stalked the Earth.

Hannibal’s lips stretch further, his smile shifting. Amusement lights up his rested eyes in tiny little, dancing pin pricks.

If only Molly knew, though she could never have the truth revealed to her. No one could. The truth lays nestled away in his heart and Will’s. Chiyoh knew, of course, as she had fished them out of the frigid, unrelenting waves of the Atlantic. She would never know the innermost layers, however. Those were to always be exclusive between him and his other half.

The mattress adjusts underneath them as Will shifts and huffs, disrupting some of the curls hanging above his eyes.

His eyes quickly open as his mouth twists into a confused and somewhat startled snarl. It takes a moment before realization and recognition ease over him, softening his mouth into something milder.

_Safe._

He pinches the bridge of his nose, drowsily rubbing his hand down and over the stubble on his cheeks and jaw. A faint scratching noise sounds as he does so. Moments slip away, untaken, before he finally looks upon Hannibal.

“Good morning,” the older man says, his face brightening. Maroon irises resembling the warm glow of settling embers.

“Good morning,” Will replies, making fleeting eye contact; embarrassment faintly coloring his cheeks and the upper tips of his ears. “I’m sorry I disturbed you last night.” Will’s voice, rough from sleep, tugs at Hannibal’s compassion.

“You needn’t ever apologize for coming to me, Will. I trust you know that, and that this is only some rooted guilt speaking. Seeking comfort does not make one weak.”

Will nods in response, small and easily missed if one was carelessly observing. Carelessness was not within Hannibal.

Will groggily rolls over, bringing himself upright, his legs now hanging over the bed, the pads of his toes touching the gleaming bamboo floor.

His head droops as a sigh scrapes between his lips, white teeth peeking from behind. He wants to go back to his room and ready himself for the day ahead. Perhaps go to the beach and inhale the scent of the ocean breeze. Feel the air caress him. The grains of sand settle in between and over his toes, warm and familiar and undemanding. Gentle. Home.

His tongue flicks out, moistening the seam of his lips. His throat clicks.

He was home. He was in a different home from the one nature could provide, sure; but he was home all the same.

Unsteadiness snakes over him as conflict and unresolved tension roil within; a storm brewing closer and closer to his horizon.

Quietly, Hannibal brings himself behind Will, a hand resting gently on his shoulder.

Will inhales slowly, deeply, and rises from the bed. He turns to Hannibal, having reached the doorway, standing before him in rumpled plaid pajama pants. The shirt had been left in a ball of sweat last night, on the floor of his own bedroom.

He meets Hannibal’s gaze in attempt to avoid studying how his hair falls softly over his forehead. The attempt nearly fails.

“Forgive me,” he speaks quietly, his voice low and smoother now but tinged with something exceeding Hannibal’s grasp.

Will’s gone before Hannibal manages to respond. A different silence now left in his wake, the air somehow seeming heavier.


	2. Chapter 2

Will breathes in the ocean air, each steady, savored inhale immersing him further in a newly constructed mind palace. The stream used in prior times of solace now feels too impartial to him, too painful, even, though he cannot place why. New reasons have grown over old, yet presently tease him in glimpses. They are now mysteries for him to uncover when the proper moment presents itself.

Having shed a former skin so to speak, his affinity for the water and the life that resides underneath the ever changing current remains regardless.

_Adapt. Evolve. Become._

Will Graham knows in his very marrow that undergoing each of these strenuous, carnal and unrelenting stages, has led him to come out on the final side, victorious and baptized in blood underneath a crisp full moon. Beautiful and vitalizing in every aspect, yet here he finds himself on the brink of a new phase altogether, feet sinking in fear. He swallows dryly, his tongue running over the ridges of his back teeth. A newly discovered bitterness falls over his taste buds, lingering in its toxicity.

He exhales stiffly as he reels himself back to the ocean air blowing swiftly through his curls, rustling his clothes. His toes dig into the sand, warm yet instantly cooled by the wind’s command. He imagines becoming one with each individual grain, visible and hidden simultaneously. It is an existence he is all too familiar with. Disdain paints itself upon his mouth, his partial frown hardening his features as it trails further down.

Time eludes him. He drifts and becomes lucid. His thoughts take shape of an unpredictable sea; nightmares materializing as seething foam, but an undertow pulls at him. Seducing him and carrying him away while alarming him in how it ensnares his body and guides him effortlessly.

Light shines, reflecting off the tops of the waves signaling safety like a lighthouse would to a sailor in distress.

_Hannibal._

Will tilts his head back in weightless surrender. Here he is safe. The foam of the waves’ crests lessens, and the sea calms itself to a gentle lull. Hannibal: as powerful as the water around him, as unrelenting and unforeseeable, yet as guiding and fulfilling in reassurance.

The young man finds himself curling up into the waves, into the memory of the earlier morning. Heat from the sun turning itself into the warmth of the older man’s nearby body.

Will breathes more deeply, tension seeping from his muscles as his toes seek further comfort in the sand.

The empath stands upon the desolate shore, as weathered and still as the rocks amongst him, until a sudden coldness rouses him from his meditative state.

Wetness breaches his skin.

His eyes flutter open, squinting as they readjust to the setting of light. By the position of the sun, he approximates the time being somewhere around mid-afternoon, however irrelevant that may be to him.

Will shakes his head. He takes a moment to reorient himself. His gaze flits downwards, a smile shattering the sterner expression from before. The blue in his eyes warms up with enthusiasm and ingrained compassion.

“Hey,” he greets as he extends his hand, allowing the dog to sniff him out and accept him before proceeding with offering pets.

The dog inspects Will for a few moments before licking his hand. She then nibbles the end of Will’s blue plaid sleeve, her tail swishing back and forth in warm greeting.

Will crouches down, putting some of his weight against the rock next to him. He pets lovingly behind her neck, making sure to scratch lightly behind her ears. It isn’t long before she sits down beside him, nuzzling into his touch.

“Hey girl,” he chimes. “Who do you belong to?” His eyebrows knit together in mild concern, the crinkles around his eyes more prominent.

“No collar,” he mutters. The dog kisses his face, causing him to laugh for the first time since his last phone call with Molly.

He sighs heavily, heart suddenly plunging, pondering if he has survivor’s guilt.

“Probably.” He scoffs.

His new friend gazes up at him in response, ears falling back as she gives a whine with big, round golden eyes. Will pets her some more, placing a smile back on his face.

He studies his new friend.

Her coal colored fur is matted and littered with sand, but that doesn’t steal away from her beauty. His eyes roam over her, noting the white diamond patch on her forehead with a fuller patch on her chest, and speckled patterns on her lower legs, resembling the night sky. He brushes his fingers through her fur, spotting some bug bites, but nothing else to raise a red flag. Having enough of his inspection, the dog playfully paws at him while giving sporadic nuzzles, tickling his chin, triggering another raspy laugh from Will.

“All right, all right,” Will assures her, kissing her forehead. “You can come home with me. Luna.” The name comes as easily as the waves chasing the shore.

Luna nudges under his jaw again, licking along his stubble. She barks at the scruffy man in agreement, her tail swishing more rapidly in excitement. Her ears fully perked, golden eyes shining bright.

He grabs a stick from the rock next to him, holding it out to her. After sniffing the salted drift wood out, she tugs at it with bared teeth, paws rooting into the sand, tail flicking for balance.

A grin blooms upon Will’s face, pulling lightly on his scar yet further lightening his eyes to nearly match that of the sea. Still crouched, Will yanks on the stick, waiting for it and Luna to give a little before removing it all the way from her mouth and tossing it far out onto the coastline.

Luna bolts away when he does so, transforming into a gorgeous wild blur of coal and starlight, her paws leaving a comet’s tail of prints and disrupted sand in their wake.

He would take her home. Call her his own; a life raft to pair well with his anchoring sea.

His stomach clenches in anxious anticipation. Discussions will have to take place. Decisions will have to be made and actions will need to be actualized.

The realization exhilarates him while his heart beats in time with the uncertainty of the new depths he is about to submerge himself in.

Salty air and distant joyful barks tug him back again. Will’s gaze falters then skitters and follows Luna, his eyes widening in marvel. Warmth then spreads across his skin, steadily growing insidious. His brows knit as his upper lip slides further crookedly upwards; his white teeth resembling the crests of the waves.

He chuckles, heart swelling with increased joy.

The high pitched ha-ha-ha of seagulls above echo the sentiment.

*******

Dusk breaks out over the horizon. Wafts of hues of deep and pastel purples mesh into burnt orange ripples and reds, the clouds having caught their shades like thinly stretched cotton and fish netting.

Will is stripped of his blue plaid shirt, with only the white undershirt remaining; clinging to his skin in saltwater and sweat. The breeze sweeps all around him, caressing the contours of his body, his curls a chaotic mess.

Hannibal instantly notes the color newly placed upon the younger man’s face. Light gold, save for the small strokes of an early stage of sunburn on his cheeks. His nose deeply inhales the sacred smell of the sea as he observes Will climbing up the front wooden steps, leading up to their cottage, his plaid shirt slung over his right shoulder, hooked between his fingers.

His eyes narrow as they move to acknowledge the companion next to him. His mouth twitches in amusement before sliding into a faint, curved smile. “Will,” He smoothly welcomes, hands clasped in front of him.

“Hannibal, before you even start, allow me to—” Will pauses, stammers even, as Hannibal’s appearance hits him. Biting the inside of his mouth, his teeth graze the side of his tongue as he his eyes sweep over Hannibal, a crease forming between them.

No suit. No tie. The older man instead dons a crisp, burgundy dress shirt with the uppermost buttons undone, the sleeves folded at the cuffs and rolled back to the elbows. Black trousers. Simple, black leather belt. Barefoot.

_Barefoot._

Will’s eyes travel up to Hannibal’s hair. His bangs artfully rest over his forehead, just as they had when they had first met in Jack Crawford’s office.

“Hannibal,” Will says, drawing out the initial ‘a’. He lingers deliberately, chewing over his thoughts, making eye contact before returning his attention to the man’s bare feet. “Are you feeling alright?”

Hannibal’s eyes gleam, crinkling at their corners.

“Quite alright.”

Will’s head tilts. He leans back on his heels. “You’re not wearing shoes.”

A singular brow arches in response.

“Does that bother you, Will?”

Will scoffs, turning it into a laugh. “For as long as I have known you, Hannibal, you have always made a show of how much you hate being barefoot outside.”

Hannibal shrugs, cracking a grin.

“Here I find being barefoot to be quite grounding. Shall we go inside?”

Will’s gaze then flits from the older man to the canine by his side, face softening.

“Not without her.”

“Of course,” Hannibal affirms as he appraises the stray.

The younger man gestures for Hannibal to lead the way, and he obliges, silently leading them across the hardwood deck and through the sliding glass door, closing it behind him after Will and the new addition file through.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my darlings. Well, I lie. There *may* be an epilogue. I'm currently undecided. 
> 
> Enjoy, and please leave kudos/comments. Share if you wish. Thank you all for reading, and keep an eye out for more stories. <3

Will and Hannibal sit opposite from one another at the dining room table. Will would have preferred the kitchen island but Hannibal had already set the stage for the evening.

Will sets his fork to the osso bucco in front of him, pulling away a perfect slice and sliding it into his mouth. He chews slowly, lost in calculating thought as his eyes darken in suspicion, glistening like a predator’s in the stalking hours of the night.

Hannibal sits and takes full delight in the meal he had poured himself passionately into, savoring every last detail on his tongue. Simpering, he indulges himself, and with a careful yet knowing gaze, breaks the silence Will has heightened.

“Lost in the seascape of your mind, Will?”

Their eyes lock as the room around them moves with the sun’s last fleeting rays; shadows weaving gracefully in between them and arranging themselves on the light colored walls, straying from the hardwood floor while playing in the fabric of white linen curtains.

Will swallows and places his fork aside before lightly tossing his napkin on the table and leaning back in his chair, his jaw working.

“…Adrift, maybe, like I’m fighting against a current.” The cadence of his voice mimics the swell and wane of a wave as his gaze refuses to deviate from the older man’s.

The former psychiatrist nods, revealing only a ghost of a sentimental smile. He takes a sip of his wine, allowing it to wash over every taste bud before swallowing in contemplation.

“Are you discovering what you have set out for, or has the realization of breaking out of the water broached your horizon?”

“I’ve been left in the water for too long.”

“You’ve been treading,” Hannibal replies in affirmation. “What if your balance could be both within the current and on the shore?”

The empath shifts his jaw, his eyes lowering in disagreement. His lips part as words work their way carefully, for once, to the tip of his tongue, peering out from over his teeth.

“I know where I am to be, Hannibal,” his voice cracks mildly as he continues, his eyes lifting, as they gradually meet the man before him again. “But I am uncertain as to how to navigate now that I’ve found myself here. I’ve lost my internal compass.” The younger man cracks a small smile upon saying the last.

The older man rises from his seat at this, taking his plate with him in one swift and elegant moment as he heads over to take Will’s, knowing that the man will not be finishing his supper this evening.

His hand brushes against Will’s own as he removes the leftover food from his reach. The young empath tenses at this, a gust of breath hitching within his throat.

“Follow me,” he gently orders, whispering in his ear and making fly away strands of curls tickle against his ear. He leaves then, granting the younger man a few moments to collect himself.

Busying himself with setting the dinnerware in the sink to soak, and shelving the leftover osso bucco into the refrigerator, Hannibal’s ears pick up on the light footfall of his companion. Simpering, he tilts his head in and closes the door to the refrigerator before turning to face Will.

They observe each other for a pregnant moment, the electricity from a not too distant morning crackling between them once more.

The younger man glances at the tips of his toes set against the polished floor, kneading the surface ever so slightly, needlessly as he chews the inside of his mouth and leans against the kitchen’s entry way.

Hannibal pads over to the cabinet on his left, fetching one wine glass and one stouter glass. He silently goes to the island in the middle of the open kitchen and sets them there. Reaching into the cupboard below the island’s ledge, he produces a bottle of red and another of perfectly aged whiskey.

The soft pour of liquids hurts echoes within Will’s eardrums, the kitchen presently seeming too well built in its acoustics.

_Clink, plink._

Two ice cubes and the rev of a smooth glide across the counter top.

He stops worrying the inside of his mouth and the pads of his toes, and closes in on Hannibal. He takes a seat on the stool momentarily before his mind presents him with the anxious notion of being too entrapped.

Hannibal’s attention fixes itself on him, hungry and curious, yet waiting patiently on the threshold of permission.

He sips his wine, plush lips against the glass.

Will attempts to not notice, though his imagination drops him into limitless possibility.

The pleasant heat of whiskey burns its way down his throat. His eyes flutter in grateful relief as he sucks his lower lip, savoring the flavor of the alcohol that still lingers there.

The hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. He unflinchingly opens his eyes and meets Hannibal’s admiration.

The younger man can feel his face flush. He sets the whiskey down, but his fingers dance tentatively on the glass’s surface.

Hannibal crosses the threshold then, walking around the curve of the island and stopping at only a respectable distance.

The bow of his mouth softens as his gaze transforms into something more knowing, almost sympathetic.

Will breathes, unsteadily, and finally summons enough valor to part from his glass of whiskey which had been acting as an emotional clutch for balance.

Another charged moment passes between them before Hannibal reaches for and captures Will’s fingers, gently lacing them with his own while his thumb runs smooth circles over the back of the empath’s hand.

Their gazes latch and Will’s breath falls into a stutter.

The maroon in Hannibal’s irises brightens, suddenly appearing more human with knowing tenderness.

“Tell me what you dreamt, Will. What caused you to scream so terribly that night?”

A beat thickens the air between the two men. The more haunted of the pair dryly swallows, a familiar bitterness coating his tongue, burning and prodding at his insides.

“Losing you,” he utters unevenly, fighting against the tears hurting his eyes and obstructing his vision.

Hannibal sweeps a thumb over his cheek, the tip of it catching a defying, stray tear.

“You have me.”

Will’s head shakes in disagreement, lips trembling along with the rest of his body.

“Dying and losing you.” He amends, his Adam’s apple nervously shifting.

The realization catches and reflects itself in Hannibal’s stare. His hand caresses the side of Will’s face, tucking rebellious curls behind his ear. He studies him a moment.

_Beautiful, remarkable boy._

The bow of his mouth flattens before softening altogether, his face falling with it. After an elongated pause, he cuts the silence.

“Your intent, in sending us over that cliff, was to rid the world of us both, was it not? To hide beneath crashing waves and the temper of the sea; far out of safety’s reach? That was to be your one last victory, was it not, dear Will?”

“Yes. I wanted us to be at peace.” A small pause, then, before he corrects himself. “I wanted myself to be at peace.”

“You already were.”

“A final peace,” Will clarifies, teeth gritting; throat working to choke back the sob threatening to spill like oil.

“Undisturbed,” Hannibal catches on, his tone turning to silk as his voice smooths and evens out in comprehension. “Undisturbed as to avoid having peace stolen away from you, like time inevitably does. Will—”

Will blinks back more betraying tears as he swallows again in attempt to suppress his devastating grief over actions long since enacted. He didn’t want to come undone. Hannibal has seen him do so before, when encephalitis had set his brain ablaze, and he had a gun pointed at a hallucinated Hobbs, but this time is different. This time, something higher is at stake.

“Will,” Hannibal said again, luring him out of his memories and panicked thoughts. Cradling the side of the empath’s face with one hand, his thumb traces soothing circles on his upper cheek, while trailing his other hand down the other side, to the base of his collarbone, before settling it on his shoulder in reassurance. Hannibal can feel Will calming under his touch, coming down from his escalated anxiety; the tendrils of fear and imagination letting him go and allowing him to ground himself.

“Will,” he calls to him softly, once more, this time bringing their foreheads together. “You have me. Even in times of turmoil, and when peace seems to have all but abandoned you, you will have me. You will find and possess that peace again. We will have and know that, together. If madness can be shared by two, then certainly so can peace.”

Will lifts his eyes to meet Hannibal’s, mesmerized by their vibrant proximity. He scrutinizes his gaze.

“I have you.” He whispers, assuring himself. Balance returns to his body and mind. The sensation of having descended into the bowels of his worst Hell dissipates; demons and guilt fleeing into silence.

The empath studies the man before him, peace orchestrating the beat of his heart as he leans in, lips gravitating to Hannibal’s.

Hannibal’s breath ceases in anticipation as his fingers gently grasp Will’s curls at the nape of his neck. Will closes the remaining increment of distance between their mouths, kissing Hannibal gently, sincerely, before breaking away and stepping back.

Hannibal’s eyes latch on to his beloved, breath faltering.

A smile graces Will’s features, fueling his radiance.

Hannibal steps forward, watching Will’s teeth tug at his lower lip in sudden hesitance.

His gaze then abruptly flits down to the floor. He unsteadily steps back; the silence of his footfall adding to the tension. A sigh rolls through him, setting his shoulders back as his fingers fumble for missing ends of his long flannel sleeves.

Hannibal gradually closes the distance between them again. The gleaming smile within his gaze indicating his desire for more, causing Will’s heart to lurch. Regret creeps through him as an apology manifests in his eyes.

Hannibal tilts his head, lips ghosting over the other’s. The younger man shies away, placing a hand on his chest and pushing.

“Don’t you want something else?” Will asks, features creasing with the type of pain one feels after a mistake spills into their heart.

The older one regards him carefully and in full, drinking in the terrible display of emotion. He scrutinizes the man, unwavering and mirroring the vulnerability of the other.

“No,” Hannibal replies; his voice clear and warm with affectionate honesty.

Will shakes his head, his throat clicking as he blinks rapidly in order to fight off the rising tide. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Hannibal, I can’t give you what you want.” He bluntly states, taking another step back, this time walking himself into the kitchen counter.

“You already have,” the man replies earnestly, pursuing the other with gentle persistence. His steps echoes faintly on the tiled floor.

Will’s mouth opens then shuts as confusion strikes his features. “You’ll want more.”

Hannibal laughs.

“I have all I need, right here. Right in front of me.” Another step forward.

Will goes to move in their dance again but finds himself with nowhere to go. The sunlight plays in his hair, adding hues of gold to contrast with the dark sweep of curls.

“They always want more.” His face pales, heart sinking.

“I…I can’t give you what you’ll eventually want.” He says, already hating himself. “I apologize, but I can’t. I can’t go there again. Sex and I—” For the first time in a long while, he finds himself stumbling in search for the right words. “There’s a significant level of disconnect when it comes to the physical aspects of an intimate relationship for me. It’s been that way for a while, though with Molly, this was another part of me I chose to hide for normalcy’s sake. I can’t hide again, Hannibal.”

Hannibal roots himself to his current spot. “I never want you to hide, Will. But I want you. I see you and I want you in every way you’re willing to give. In regards to sex,” he pauses, catching Will’s eyes. “Normality is as fluid as sexuality. Normal varies for us all, as does sexual orientation and preference.”

Will chuckles, a low, raspy thing. He rubs the back of his neck while tucking his head in avoidance. He bites the inside of his mouth, lips quivering. “You would grow tired. Frustrated, or resentful. I might not be as interesting.”

“I will always find you interesting. I always have. We are two sides of the same coin, yet you still are unpredictable to me. You undergo such beautiful transformations. I doubt that your love would not transcend that beauty. I would not abandon you merely because of a difference in orientation. Whatever love you give me will always be enough. I could never resent you for it.”

“So fucking me isn’t important to you?”

“It is not as important as being intimate with you. It is not as important as simply being with you, in whichever way you choose to be with me.”

Will nods, observing Hannibal carefully. “I crave the emotional closeness. The depths of it. I need it, I always have, and...” he eases into eye contact with the elegant man before him, who is patiently and willingly hearing him out. Realization of Hannibal’s honesty hits him then, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Between that, and the trust in which we build off that…I can kiss you. I can lie beside you and breathe you in like I did last night, and for you, that’s really enough, isn’t it? I may obscure myself, but you always see me. Know me.”

“As you see and know me,” Hannibal confirms lovingly. In a few short, graceful strides, the distance between the two men closes again.

“Remarkable boy,” he said, cradling the back of Will’s head once more. “I think I’ll have your heart.”

Will breaks, beaming as he laughs lightly at the predator emerging through Hannibal’s human veil. “You already do.”

Hannibal kisses his forehead. Will’s breath rushes out in relief, tickling his neck, and the older man’s lips split into a delighted grin. Will’s hand brushes the side of Hannibal’s face, his head tilting up slightly as he looks at him through dark lashes.

A snout unexpectedly presses against his knee and he laughs, Hannibal laughing along with him as Luna brushes against their legs.

Hannibal cups Will’s face and presses his mouth to his, breathing levity further into the man.

Will responds, smiling into the kiss and deepening it but Hannibal breaks away to look at him like some rare gift.

“You’re all I need.”

Will’s smile broadens into a grin as he pulls him back and breathes mid-kiss, “I know.”


End file.
